


now you wear your skin like armor, your breath as hard as kerosene

by kadaransmuggler



Series: tell that devil [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Canon Divergent, Ex-Legion Slave Courier, Gen, Other, but better safe than sorry, but it's not mentioned explicitly, just sort of implied because of the whole ex-slave thing, the violence isn't really that violent in this fic, there's also some implied/referenced non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 10:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15771864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kadaransmuggler/pseuds/kadaransmuggler
Summary: Courier Six finds a familiar face in Zion.





	now you wear your skin like armor, your breath as hard as kerosene

                Zion greets her with a hail of bullets.  Whisper staggers away from the ambush broken and bleeding, but so doggedly alive. She did not die on the banks of the Colorado River and she did not die in the shallow grave Benny had put her in. She will not die here, either.

                A tribal finds her, leaning against one of the boulders that dot the landscape. She’s got one hand pressed against her side to staunch the bleeding, the other curled tight around the pistol that had put a bullet in her head. The wound on her thigh bleeds sluggishly, red drops falling on the red clay.

                His name is Follows-Chalk, and he slides her arm over his shoulder and half-carries her further into the valley.

* * *

                Follows-Chalk does not stop talking. Whisper thinks it might be to take her mind off the holes in her side and her thigh, but she’s not sure. Too busy focusing on not collapsing to complain, too.

                “Are the tribes of the Mojave really fighting over so small as a dam?” he asks, and she prays that he never follows her footsteps to the Mojave. It has chewed her up, forged her in fire. She would not see the same happen to him.

                “You’d be surprised at what the civilized folk fight over,” she says, a wry twist to her lips. She stumbles, but he is there to catch her. She bites back a cry and thinks of home, and Arcade, and Leah. She will not fall here.

                “Now you sound like Joshua Graham,” Follows-Chalk tells her, huffing a laugh.

                She wonders if she will ever be free of the Malpais Legate.  

* * *

                The cave is silent and still when Joshua meets her eyes. Stubbornly, she pushes away from Follows-Chalk and takes two steps into the cavern, brown eyes burning with a fire that couldn’t be stamped out.

                “Abigail,” Joshua breathes, and Whisper’s head has a defiant tilt.

                “Malpais Legate,” she returns, and he flinches from the title. A slow smile spreads across her face.  

                “I haven’t gone by Abigail in a long time. Not since I crawled out of my grave,” she tells him, something hard and flinty in her voice. She does not want to believe that he was here, in front of her, breathing and living just as sure as she was.

                They had used his death against her too many times for that.

                “I did not think I would see you again,” he says, rising from his chair, reverence shining in his blue eyes.

                “And I thought you were dead. Things have a funny way of working out,” she says, tries to keep the bitterness from seeping into her voice. The brand on her back burns.

                She takes another step, and her injured leg goes out. Joshua stumbles forward, reaching, but Follows-Chalk gets there first. She curls her fingers around his shoulder, and Joshua drops his hand to his side.

                “There is a bench,” he says, pointing, and Follows-Chalk helps her limp closer, easing her down. Joshua steps closer, but still, he hangs back.

                She doesn’t know if she wants to wrap her arms around him, to curl up against his chest, or if she wants to raise her pistol and put a bullet between his eyes.

                She fumbles with the leather pants she wears instead. If she can get them off instead of cutting them away, they could be salvaged. It is one less thing she will have to lose.

                She is so tired of losing things.

                The armor she wears is unfamiliar to the tribal scout, but he catches on quick enough. In the flickering firelight, he helps her remove her armor. It is only then, when she sits in nothing but the sweat-stained bra and dirty panties, that Joshua steps forward again.

                His hands are full of medical supplies. He meets her eyes, reaching for her.

                She does not flinch when she feels his fingers on her skin.

                “What is this, on your back?” Follows-Chalk asks, his fingers tracing over the bull burned onto her flesh, and it is then that Whisper flinches.

                He pulls his hand away. She does not answer. She ignores the guilt shining bright in blue eyes.

* * *

                Follows-Chalk slips out of the cavern once her wounds are bandaged, after helping her to a bed of furs beside the fire. Whisper does not ask him to stay. She is not so childish that she would not be here, alone, with Joshua. Her pistol is within her reach. If he tries anything, she will kill him first.

                He rifles through her bag for something she can wear while she heals. Pink silk trimmed with lace slips through his fingers, and he goes still.

                “What is this?” he asks, pulling it from the bag. He catches sight of a handful of Legion coins. He does not want to think of what the shining gold might mean.

                “A nightgown. Surely it is not an unfamiliar concept,” she says, holding her hand out. Dutifully, he passes her the bundle of cloth.

                “It is just…you did not wear anything like that before,” he murmurs, lifting his eyes to hers.

                She could give him a sharp retort in response, but she doesn’t. She’s too tired.

                “I wore it to seduce the man who shot me in the head. I killed him in his sleep. The gown is a souvenir,” she tells him, words short and clipped. She pulls her bra off, and pretends she doesn’t notice the way his breath catches in his throat.

                It is not the first time she had bared herself to him.

                She slips the nightgown over her head, the silk pooling at the waist. She had not worn it since Benny had peeled it off of her.

                It reminds her of the platinum chip, sitting heavy in her pack. It reminds her that if she goes back to the Mojave, she will go back to the Fort.

                It is why she came to Zion in the first place.

                Joshua goes silent, and Whisper lays down. She turns her back to him.

                The nightgown is cut low enough that her brand is on display. He does not look at the silver-pale marks.

* * *

                Whisper only gives her wounds time to scab over before she climbs to her feet. Joshua had mended her armor and procured a map while she healed.

                He would not make her stay. He had done enough to her.

                Whisper dresses, the motions pulling at the wounds. The pain is freeing.

                She picks the map up, makes a note in her Pip-Boy, and puts it back down. She reaches up to brush her hair out of her face.

                “I’m going back to the site of the ambush. When I come back, you can tell me where I’m needed. I would not leave the Dead Horses and the Sorrows to fend for themselves,” she says. She takes a shovel from the corner, and disappears through the tunnel.

                Joshua begins to pray.

* * *

                The ground in Zion is rocky. It is difficult work, to dig five shallow graves. The hot sun beats down on her back, and her armor sticks to her skin. Her wounds are screaming before long.

                It is a full day’s task to bury the bodies. Already, the stench of death hangs heavy in the air.

                Whisper carves their names into a nearby tree before she leaves, limping back towards the Dead Horses’ camp.

                She bathes in the river that night, and she sits by the fire and brushes her long black hair. Across from her, Joshua reads aloud from his book of scriptures.

                She tries to pretend she hadn’t missed his voice.

* * *

                The next morning, Joshua has a list of things for her to do. She does not speak to him as she leaves. Follows-Chalk leaves with her.

                She feels like she is leaving her heart with him. She feels like she is as empty and hollow as the cave that she has just left. She feels like she is home, and that she can never go home again.

                She does not want to think about it.

* * *

                 Whisper does not like Daniel. She does not dislike him either. He is kind enough and well-meaning. But he robs the Sorrows of their voices, and he wants to make their choices for them. She has had enough of men making others' choices for them.

                She thinks he doesn’t like her, either. He did not want to fight.

                She leaves the conversation angry.

                She doesn’t know if it is fortune or misfortunate smiles at her when she meets Joshua on her way out of the camp.

                He makes the mistake of telling her where the White Legs have set up camp.

* * *

                Whisper lies flat on her stomach at the top of a ridge, the White Legs spread out in their camp beneath her. She does not have enough bullets for all of them.

                For a moment, she thinks of Boone and Bitter Springs. She hopes she is not making the same mistake.

                Salt-Upon-Wounds is easily identified by the helmet he wears. He takes it off, kneeling in the waters of the river for a drink, and in the space between breaths, Whisper pulls the trigger.

                The moments that follow are chaos. She picks the White Legs off one by one, until her rifle runs out of bullets. By then, they have pinpointed her location. She rolls behind a rock and pulls her pistol from her belt, clicking the safety off.

                She slides down a steep hill into the chaos below, and loses herself in a world of blood and bullets.

* * *

                Daniel made his way to the Dead Horses’ camp. The courier who had promised to help had not been seen for the last two days. The missionary thinks that Joshua might know.

                At the mouth of the river, he sees her. She is face down, covered in mud and blood. The water around her is pink from it.

                He rolls her over and she groans, eyelids fluttering.

                Joshua is there moments later. He lifts her gently, his face impossible to read as he carries her down the river and into the camp. Daniel rushes ahead, working quickly. He manages to set up a cot in time for Joshua to lay her down on it.

                It is a work against time to save her life. She has lost so much blood, and his supplies are limited, but Joshua paces and prays and Whisper has always been a stubborn thing.

                It will not be the White Legs that kill her. Not when she has a home and a daughter to go back to.

                Outside, the tribes celebrate the defeat of their enemies.

* * *

                She wakes three days after that. She feels like a pack of deathclaws had turned her into a chew toy, but she is alive, and it is more than she had hoped for.

                The cave is empty save her, but Whisper sees one of Daniel’s shirts on the ground. She rises on unsteady feet and pulls the shirt on one sleeve at a time. Her fingers shake as she buttons it up.

                She is shorter than Daniel, enough so that his shirt hangs down to her mid-thigh.  She leaves her hair down.

                Whisper steps out into the mid-day sun, and the whole camp stops to stare. It is only Joshua that steps forward, eyes bright as he reaches for her.

                She backs up.

                Daniel arrives then, looking haggard and worn.

                “What did you do?” he asks, but there’s a shadowed look in his eyes that tells her he knows the answer.

                “The White Legs won't be a problem anymore,” she says. She brushes past them to find Follows-Chalk.

* * *

                Joshua corners her later that day. She does not try to run. She is so tired of running, and so she will not.

                They regard each other in silence. The moments stretch between them. Whisper did not think she would be the one to break it, but she does.

                “Do they know?” she asks, her voice quiet. She knows he heard her, though. Somehow, he always did.

                “Do they know what?” he asks. She doesn’t look at him. She’s still wearing Daniel’s shirt. It suits her more than he had thought it would.

                “Do they know what you were before? That it was on your orders that I was taken from my home, a collar around my neck? That it was you who gave me the brand on my back? That you have taken everything from me, and that you have the gall to act like you didn’t,” she says, and it is only then that she turns to look at him. She does not realize how loud her voice has gotten.

                It has drawn the attention of the Dead Horses. She does not notice. She only notices him, and the look on his face, and the way that even now there is a part of her that misses him.

                “I’m sorry. There is nothing I can do that will make up for it. There is nothing I can do that will change it,” he tells her, and there’s something soft and sad in his voice that makes her want to see him dead.

                “You’re sorry? You’re _sorry_?” she spits, and it is an old anger that she has nurtured for the past five years, finally breaking free. “I lost my life because of you, and then you _died_ on me! You know, they gave me to Vulpes after you died. Do you want me to tell you the things he did to me? He did a lot of things. He liked it when I screamed,” she snarls.

                “What is it you’re angry about?” he asks, slow and deliberate, and Whisper draws in a deep breath.

                “I’m mad because you _left_ me. I would have stayed by your side, and I would have been happy, and it’s fucked up, and I’m mad about _that_ too. You and the fucking Legion took everything from me and I can’t get any of it back, and I’m mad about that. I’m mad about _everything_ , Joshua Graham,” she yells, chest heaving.

                Graham’s eyes are steady when they meet hers. He reaches out and takes her hand in his. He remembers the way the sunset looked in her eyes.

                “And now, you are free,” he tells her. Whisper’s spine straightens as he drops her hand.

                Once, she would have crawled back to him. She would have taken this moment, and pressed kisses to the bandages over his face. She would have told him that he was forgiven.

                Now, she would sooner cut off her hand before she reaches for him again. She thinks of Leah, two years old and toddling around after Arcade, her tiny fingers clutching the hem of his lab coat. She thinks of the platinum chip in her bag. She thinks of House. She thinks of Caesar and the Mark that had been pressed into her hand on the Vegas strip.

                Whisper will not forgive him, but forgiveness is not necessary.

                She steps closer, and Joshua doesn’t back away. After everything, he would not deny her her revenge.

                “I will leave Zion when Daniel tells me my wounds will let me make the trip. And when I go, you will go with me,” she says, slow and careful. There is no room for argument in his words.

                The crowd disperses long before either of them move. Then, Joshua slips into the cave, and begins to pack.

* * *

                When Whisper leaves Zion, Joshua Graham walks in her footsteps, and she wears Caesar’s Mark around her neck.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write about Whisper for years now. It feels really good to get some of her story out. This is definitely only the first piece of several- there's a lot left to explore.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading! If you liked it, kudos and comments are definitely welcome, and I do my best to try and respond to any comments I get.


End file.
